Cross
by baobabs
Summary: Doctor's wives die young. DISCONTINUED DUE TO SHEER CRAPPY CONTENT. DIED. ABANDONED. You get the message.
1. Such a Pretty Little Thing

Such a Pretty Little Thing

Constant gunshots echoed over the battlefield, and the air rang with the piteous cries of the wounded. Nurses and doctors scurried to and fro, lifting the injured onto stretchers and sobbing over the dead. They were careful to keep a low profile, their clothing blending in with the bleak background.

A slim red-haired nurse hurriedly wiped away her tears and helped the rest carry a soldier to the tents at the edge of the field, her fiery locks standing out sharply against the gray sky. A loud bang echoed several times. The nurse staggered, the stain on her chest the same shade as her hair.

Gilbert Blythe flinched as he took a bite of the less-than-savory bread they had for lunch each day. In his late thirties, he had enlisted as a doctor in the war. He missed his wife, Anne, and longed to speak to her, but he never had time to write a letter, let only the privilege of constant phone calls. Trying and failing to rid the taste with a long gulp of metallic water, he hastily left the remains on his lunch on the rickety table and strode outside.

"Blythe! Hey Blythe!"

Gilbert turned to see his roommate and fellow doctor Jim Dyke running towards him, brandishing a small rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. "Something came for you!"

"Who's it from?"

A look of regret and sadness passed over his face. "The nurse who was shot yesterday. Poor thing, she was trying to get one of our soldiers to safety. She told Mary and Rick to give this to us before she died. Strange, do you know her? Who is she? Dead so young, what a pity; such a pretty thing, too. Such bright red hair, and those lovely grey eyes."

Gilbert froze. "Red- hair? Grey-eyes?"

Jim nodded. "Aye. Who is she?"

His words met thin air. Gilbert rushed away in the direction of the infirmary, nearly bowling Jim over. "What the-" Here he said a few words I cannot put down.

"Mary! Rick!"

A balding man in his fifties and a blonde nurse around forty turned around and waved a hand in greeting. The cheerful salute seemed out of place in this hideous, gloomy reminder of the war.

"Gilbert! Over here!"

Mary returned to helping a young soldier who had been shot in the arm. Without looking around, she asked, "What brings you here?"

"Mary, the nurse who died yesterday," he said breathlessly. "Do you know her name? What did she want? What did she tell you?"

Mary turned to face him. "Oh, it's so sad. Such a dear little thing, so young and full o' life. Speaking of which, did you get the package?" she inquired sadly.

Gilbert nodded impatiently. "Who was she? Did she tell you where she was from?"

"Not sure, Gil. She only arrived that morning; there wasn't time to get acquainted. She had an odd way of speaking; she said "the dusky sky is like the silky fabric of a duchess's gown, sprinkled with a million stars. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Gilbert nearly fainted. Yes, that very much resembled Anne's way of talking. Gripping the corner of a bedside table, he shuddered. No, it couldn't be; Anne was safely at home, at their house or visiting Green Gables. There was no way she could be here, at the battlefield of World War I. Unless…

"Gilbert?"

He yelled a brief thank you behind him before sprinting out of the infirmary.

The young doctor tore into the General's office, desperately praying it wasn't empty. He yanked the door open and sat down hard, having collided with his commander.

"Blythe? Gilbert Blythe?" He helped the other up and surveyed him critically. "You're in a hurry today, Blythe."

"Yes, General. Sorry about that." Gilbert gasped. "Just-" He hated asking for favours, but this was urgent and there was no other way. "Umm, Sir- can I make a phone call? It's- incredibly important."

General Curtis smiled warmly. "Of course, Blythe. I would do anything for you after you saved that rogue son of mine from that horrible wound he received."

"Thank you, sir."

Gilbert rushed to the black phone on the wooden desk. His hand trembled with trepidation and he briefly wondered whether he really wanted to make the call. He checked the small clock hanging on the wall; Anne would be home at this time. The young man dialed a number and clutched the receiver so tight his knuckled turned white. Static crackled over the line after the overseas operator connected the call.

"Hello?" a feminine voice answered.

For a moment, Gilbert couldn't speak over the lump of disappointment that had formed in his throat.

"Hello?"

"D-Diana?"

There was a muffled gasp on the other end; Diana Barry, now Wright, had dropped the phone. "Gracious Providence! Gil? Oh, Gil!"

Why would Diana be answering the phone at their house? Where was Anne? He posed his questions to Diana.

"Anne asked me to stay here to look after the children after she- after she left. To find you," she said hesitantly.

A cold chill enveloped Gilbert Blythe. "No," he whispered disbelievingly. "Diana, why did she leave?"

"Well, you never wrote, and Josie Pye said she heard a rumour form her cousin Ned that you were missing, so she went to look for you. She works for Red Cross, I think. You know Anne, she never stops to think. Oh, please tell me she's safe!"

The receiver clattered onto the table; suddenly the young man was filled with fear, guilt and anger. Fear that the worst had happened to Anne. Guilt that he never sent letters. Anger towards himself that he hadn't made time to write.

"Gil? Gilbert?"

Gilbert fled.


	2. Memories and June Lilies

**Author's Note: Oh heck.** **I just remembered that Anne and Gilbert were **_**not**_** in their late thirties during World War I; it was their sons who enlisted. Oh well. Anyways, my profile mentioned excusing any historical errors, so **_**please**_** be nice. And please ignore any grammar mistakes. **_**And**_** chronological mistakes, since I don't know how old the Blythe children will be.**

**P.S. Umm, I just realized that Gilbert should be in his early forties if I plan on introducing Baby Rilla, but I haven't read the whole series so please ignore.**

Disclaimer: I forgot to do this for the previous chapter, so yeah. Erm, as much as this _kills_ me to say it, I don't own any of the AoGG characters (sob, sob). But I do own Danielle, Jim Dyke, Donald, Rick, and Mary. Please, R&R!

Memories and June Lilies

"No, no,_ no_!" Gilbert thought as he raced back the white tents at the other side of the field. "Anne, Anne! This can't be true, it must be someone else who's like my Anne-girl; she couldn't have come, she couldn't have!"

"Mary!"

"Gil? What're you doing here? Thought you went to see General Curtis!"

"Mary, the nurse who gave you that package. Does anyone know who she is?"

The blonde nurse tapped her chin. "Aye, I remember she was great friends with Danielle Renée during the short time she was here. She's over there," she said, pointing to a corner where a pale, black-haired woman was talking gently to her patient.

"Danielle! Danielle!"

The nurse turned around curiously. "Huh? Doctor Blythe?" Gilbert was widely known and liked among the nurses and fellow doctors of General Curtis's command. "What?"

"You know the nurse who died yesterday? Was she your friend?"

Danielle's eyes were suddenly bright with tears. She hastily returned to treating her patient, trying in vain to stop the streams running down her cheeks. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"What- what was her name and where was- where was she from?" Gilbert asked in trepidation.

"Anne of Avonlea."

The room spun. Danielle's frail figure seemed to shrink, until the welcome blackness enveloped him…

"Gilbert? Gilbert!"

"Blythe, wake up!"

Gilbert slowly came to and shifted uncomfortably. Opening his eyes, he saw the concerned faces of Danielle, Mary and a fellow doctor named Donald peering down at him. Struggling to clear his head, he sat up and promptly banged his head on the corner of a table.

"Ow!"

Donald chuckled. "You alright now, Blythe? Gave us a nasty shock, you did. What did you go fainting like that for, eh?"

A flow of memories rushed through Gilbert's mind. The reality of what had happened struck him like a bolt of lightning. "No," he whispered. "Anne, Anne, _Anne!_"

He saw Danielle stiffen. "Do you know her?" she asked quietly.

Not answering, Gilbert leapt to his feet unsteadily. "Has she been buried yet?" he demanded. The black-haired woman shook her head.

"No, not yet. She said she wanted to be brought back to her homeland; she said you will know where exactly to bury her. Her body- is in our cabin right now. How does she know you, Doctor?"

Once again, Gilbert didn't speak. He strode purposefully towards the cabins with an authority that surprised all of them. His heart was telling him that Anne might still be alive, despite all proof; but his mind knew there was no hope left. Still he refused to accept that possibility, not accepting the facts until he had seen Anne with his own eyes.

The others watched him go wordlessly, knowing subconsciously that their friend had a close connection to the dead woman: love.

Lifting the flap that obscured his view, Gilbert trembled, teetering at the entrance, unsure and terrified of what lay ahead. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he crept forwards, edging around the many mattresses on the floor.

Anne Blythe, born Shirley, lay on a straw bed, her pitiful form covered by a thin white blanket. A faint smile hovered on her pale lips, as if she was happy when she breathed her last; as if there was no brown stain on her chest; as if there was no lead bullet buried in her.

What courage Gilbert had left deserted him; he collapsed onto the hard wooden floor, dry-eyed. _What was wrong with him?_ He screamed to himself. Why couldn't he shed a single tear when his wife was dead, when the woman he loved more than his own life was gone from him forever?

A quiet cough sounded behind him. Unbeknownst to the young man, Danielle had crept up to join him. "Doctor Blythe, are you okay?" she asked from the doorway, then immediately felt foolish as he turned to face her. He obviously wasn't.

Gilbert smiled weakly. "Please, Danielle, just call me Gil."

The nurse shifted uncomfortably. "You know, you have a certain knack for not answering my questions, Doc- Gil. Was she- did you- was she your wife?"

Gilbert nodded numbly. Danielle gasped and came to sit next to him. "Oh, Gil, I'm so sorry. Is there- anything I can do?"

He shook his head. "But thanks for the offer, Dan."

Danielle nervously fished out a brown package from her apron pocket. He recognized it as the box Jim had tried to give to him earlier on. "Umm, Gil, here are the things Anne wanted you to have. I bumped into Doctor Dyke before coming here, and he asked me to pass this to you." She didn't add the fact the he had bombarded her with questions, indignant speeches and an occasional swear word or two.

Seeing that Gilbert made no motion to take the gift, Danielle chided him gently. "Anne was the best friend I ever had, Gil. My family is- extremely poor, and not many people wanted to fraternize with me. I saved up as much as I could to take medical courses, yet Anne was a better nurse by far. Her voice, her touch and her compassion and empathy was a better remedy than any medicine. She was the most caring person I've ever met, if a bit queer. I'm sure she would want to take this."

Gilbert gave Danielle a brief smile, silently thanking her, and took the package. Sensing he wanted to be alone, she left for the infirmary, blinking away the tears that threatened to overflow.

Gilbert turned the parcel over and over in his hands, feeling oddly blank. He unwrapped the packaging and found a rectangular black box with a golden clasp. Undoing the clasp, he found several broken pieces of slate. He smiled inwardly, remembering the incident in the Avonlea schoolhouse; the day when he had discovered he loved Anne Shirley. He was touched at the great care she had taken of those cracked pieces of her slate.

Underneath was a poem Paul Irving had written for his favourite teacher. He studied the scrap piece of paper then placed it on top of the book, before returning to studying the contents of the package.

Next was a small framed portrait of him and Anne, drawn by the talented artist Kitty Sawyer from Avonlea. She had captured the joyous sparkle in their eyes and the delighted expression on their faces perfectly, and emphasized on the clasped hands and profound love for each other that seemed to practically emanate from the young couple.

At the bottom of the box was a bundle of unsent letters. Gilbert frowned, untying the stained blue ribbon that bound them together. He picked up the first one and unfolded it. He began to read.

_Dear Gil, _

_Why do you never write? Being a doctor during the war keeps you busy, I know, so I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up too much when the mail comes. _

_Little Rilla is such a dear! You should see her when she giggles, Gil, it's the most adorable sound I've ever heard! Susan knitted her a pair of delicious bootees, pale green with a little yellow ruffle. The other children are so sweet, too; Walter wrote a little poem that's perfectly charming, I show it to you when you come back. Susan made Di and Nan a dress each from this gorgeous cloth she bought; it looks and feels like real silk! Di's is a lovely brown with little red bows, kind of like the dress Matthew gave me for Christmas. Do you remember how happy I was over the puffed sleeves? Nan's is a golden yellow colour, the exact shade of the sun glinting of daffodil petals, with lace at the sleeves and at the bottom. They were like two cats that got the cream, all smiling and laughing. Jem had a bit of trouble writing the composition Mr. Carter asked them to do, but I helped him a bit and it turned out all right. Susan knitted Shirley the sweetest scarf I ever saw: light blue, like summer's sky and with a white fringe as pure as snow. Isn't that sweet? He wore it to a picnic we had in near Hester Gray's garden, like "an innocent youth wearing a piece of the sky". Some innocent youth. He spilled the jam on the blanket, upset the milk and dropped a dandelion in the ice cream. _

_Charlie Sloane's aunt Carrie came to visit him today. I never met a more unpleasant, obstinate lady in my life, the complete opposite of Miss Lavendar, now Irving, bless her soul. Paul described her as "Satan's Wife", and was severely reprimanded by Marilla and Mrs. Lynde. I couldn't help agreeing with him, though. Why, she said my hair was "redder than a flame and not half as useful!" I was terribly offended, and as Marilla, said, she was lucky there were no slates around. But I had my delicious little revenge, Gil. Mrs. Lynde asked me to make some lemonade for her and I "accidentally" forgot the sugar. You should've seen her face! I didn't dare laugh out loud. It was a nasty thought, and I immediately felt a twinge of regret afterwards. But only a twinge, Gil. In our schooldays, I often prayed I would be like dear Mrs. Allen, sweet, kind and understanding, without mocking others, but I'm afraid I will never be like that. _

_Charlie's wife left the house in a huff after her Aunt Carrie said that the children looked horribly underfed, and questioned her mothering abilities. She banged the door so hard it nearly broke and scared their cat witless. I couldn't help giggling when I saw her coming down the path, with flour on her red dress and her blond hair in disarray, looking every inch a flustered mother hen! I know it's terribly wicked of me, Gil, but I can never seem to stop myself. _

_How's the doctoring getting on, Gil? Any new friends? Diana came over this morning with Fred's uncle Jacob. He said he use to travel from village to village, ringing a little copper bell, calling the sick to him. He says it was very hard work at times, and occasionally the patient died which made him sad for days afterward, but if they got better, it's like he recovered himself, it was such joy to him. I hope that you receive the same happiness, Gil. Are you doing all right? Do you remember to wear enough? It get's quite chilly in the early morning, I know, and I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but- I feel like I can never stop worrying until you get back home, safe and sound._

_Love until the sun grows cold,_

_Anne._

Pressed on to the paper was a June lily. The petals had yellowed and the stem turned brown. At the sight of the flower his dead wife had loved so much, the mental barriers Gilbert had built in his mind to keep out the acceptance of his love's death finally crumbled. At last, the truth of what had happened hit him in full force and all the tears he had kept at bay with the refusal to believe came pouring down. Gilbert wept.

Oh, how he wept! A cascade of tears flowed down his cheeks, completely drenching his shirt collar. His body shook with sobs and an occasional whimper escaped his throat. He rocked to and fro, moaning quietly, his eyes riveted to the last few sentences of the letter now lying on the floor: _I know you can take care of yourself, but- I feel like I can never stop worrying until you get back home, safe and sound. Love until the sun grows cold, Anne. _She knew, but never stopped to consider watching out for herself. That was so like his Anne-girl; so impulsive, never stopping to think before she acted. He hadn't bothered to make time to write, yet she still loved him. She had tried to disguise her emotions through the writing of the letter, yet he knew her too well. Gilbert had recognized the bitterness, the resignation, the fear, the feeling of neglect that had been concealed behind the words.

"It's my fault," he murmured to no one in particular, "it's my fault Anne's dead. Oh, Anne, Anne, what did you do- what did _we_ do- to deserve this sorrow? Anne, Anne, my sweet, poor Anne. You were so full of life and hope, with such a bright future- why did you have to leave? Oh, Anne. What will the others think? Jem, Walter, Nan and Di, little Shirley and sweet Rilla. Poor Rilla! She will have to grow up motherless, and it's my entire fault! And Marilla… she will be broken up about it, I'm sure. Mrs. Lynde and Davy and Dora Keith… and Diana and Fred and Phil and Susan and Miss Cornelia… and Prissy Grant and Stella Maynard and Leslie and Charlie Sloane… he was _dead gone_ on you, Anne. Anne, Anne, Anne… why did you have to leave? Why, Anne, why?"

Gilbert remembered to moments they had shared, the rivalry they had ever since that fateful day in the Avonlea schoolhouse; every single quarrel, every single debate; her laughter ringing in the air, brightening him up even in his gloomiest moments.


End file.
